


Seven to One

by Gorsecloud



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Difficult Decisions, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Third Person, Past Character Death, Present Tense, Spoilers - Neutral Route, Spoilers - Pacifist Route, Vague No Mercy spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorsecloud/pseuds/Gorsecloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether because they want to stay or because they don't want to leave, Frisk deigns to remain in the Underground before even fighting Asgore. And because of this, the king is burdened with many difficult choices: not just what to do about this child but what to do about everything he's been working towards for decades. Meanwhile, a certain flower is in possession of plans of his own and only a finite amount of patience to see them happen. And together, the decisions of these three - the child, the king, the flower - will rock the Underground to its core and shape its future forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Arcanista for all their help in making this AU. I planted the seed and watered it but our talks were the fertilizer that turned it into an actual healthy tree.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You feel like if you go to sleep here, you might never wake up...

New Home was more than a mirror to the one in the ruins. The furniture was identical, down to the last stool. The bookshelves were likewise covered in far too many books about snails. The only difference they could see was the flowers, bright and gold, lending life to a world where it seemed to have faded. But other than that, it was exactly the same.  
  
That’s what they chalked it up to, the eerie familiarity they felt as they padded through the hallways, the whispers of a thousand million excited voices following them, echoing the tale of a well-known story (well-known to them, anyway). The feeling that they’d sat in this chair, ate at that table, run their fingers along this wall while walking to their room. ~~Their room?~~  
  
It doesn’t take long to find the keys, not with the note so helpfully pointing out the way. But they find themselves stopping, footsteps stuttering to a halt outside the first door down the hallway. The one they’d stayed in when Toriel had found them. Maybe it’s exhaustion; they’ve been travelling for so far, going without rest on this long, difficult journey.  
  
With oddly shaking fingers they push the door open.  
  
Here too, the room is so similar, and yet, here there _are_ differences. Two boxes left wrapped on the floor. A drawing on the wall. A second bed.  
  
Ever inquisitive, their hands find the boxes first. The heart-shaped locket is first, and goes around their neck without really thinking, even as an odd bubbling resentment sits in their stomach. Whoever had lived here as obviously well-loved. Their fingers almost recoil when they meet the worn dagger, but the practical part of them takes it with, just in case.  
  
They continue exploring, finding the green-and-yellow shirts, examining the framed drawing on the wall. They stop last at the bed, the one that hadn’t been at Toriel’s house.  
  
They’re so tired, exhausted, and yet even as their fingers rest on the covers, a sort of nameless unease grips them, and the strangest thought pops into their head.

 _If they lie down here, they might never wake up._  
  
The absurdity of it breaks the spell, almost. It was just a bed though, wasn’t it? Any danger came from being caught unawares, and they’d long since come to understand that the monsters here weren’t like that. Maybe… maybe it would be rude to just barge in and sleep on someone’s bed, but… they’re still so tired. And there’s still that sense of familiarity.  
  
Of home.  
  
If they were honest with themselves, really honest, they weren’t really sure they wanted to leave. They hadn’t been sure for a while. “Home” up on the surface hadn’t ever really been much of a home. They were happier down here – honestly happy – than they’d ever felt, more sure of the people around them than anyone they’d met on the surface. And if they continued… they’d have to do as Alphys said. They’d have to fight Asgore. They’d have to betray the convictions they’d held all throughout this journey. But… it's where they belong, isn’t it?  
  
_Isn't it?_  
  
They tear their hands away from the covers, take one step, then two. They all but flee the room, tearing down the hallway to the stairs. The keys slowly steady in their hands as they unlock the way down to the basement. As they walk the long hallway, glancing over the broad, crowded vista of New Home.  
  
It’s more than just voices this time. The monsters they’ve met, the friends they made all line up to see them, to tell them the story. The story about the prince and his human friend, about their hopes for the future, about the king they had faith in.  
  
_“You’re going to be free.”_  
  
It's too much. The locket beats a tattoo against their chest as they turn, running back the way they came.  
  
A pause, a delay. Maybe that’s all this is. But they're so tired. So, so tired. And there's this vague sense that maybe, maybe if they can buy some time… maybe things will somehow work out.  
  
The pillow seems to swallow them as they laid their head down.  
  
The mattress dips gently under their weight, cradling them.  
  
The blanket weighs on them heavily, pinning them down.  
  
The sheets smell very faintly like butterscotch-cinnamon pie.  
  
It's terrible, suffocating, alien.  
  
It's the most natural thing in the world.  
  
_If you fall asleep here, you might never wake up_. But if waking up means leaving, means facing the end that they knew is coming… maybe that would be better. Maybe they can just sleep forever.

* * *

The fact that someone has been in his house is readily apparent as soon as Asgore walks up the stairs – the locks are undone, the keys lying abandoned beside them – but it's not at all upsetting. He's long since told monsters that if they need him, truly need him, to come to him anytime. It was why he’d left the note, even, when he’d gone down to garden earlier telling them how to find him. There’s been a great deal of excitement in the Underground over the past few days. He’s only caught whispers here and there, but know from experience that at times like this, making himself available is the best course of action. If it's something that needs to be brought to his attention, someone will surely do so.  
  
The only concerning thing about it all was that they _haven’t_ , but it would have hardly been the first time someone has been too nervous to venture out and intrude upon his apparent privacy.  
  
This line of thought leaves him with the obvious question though: where are they?  
  
A quick tour of the living room yields nothing, nor does the kitchen. The hallways from the throne room to New Home are too straight, with no detours. He can't have missed them en route. So either whoever it was has already left, or they were in one of the bedrooms, likely his. Not exactly the most comfortable of prospects, but he can manage.  
  
And yet it too is empty. He is about to concede defeat when he notices it - the door to the children’s room is ajar. A feeling of hurt and annoyance that one would intrude there - where his children had lived and grown - is squelched down.  
  
The room is dark when he enters, with the only light coming from the hallway. Asgore steps in, ducking his head under the doorframe.  
  
Truthfully he rarely visits this room. The pain of his children’s loss has dulled over time, but never faded entirely, and visiting this room always makes it sting afresh. Seeing the toys they’d played with. The drawing that Chara had made on the wall. Both of their beds, empty-  
  
Except they aren’t he realizes, pushing himself further into the room. One of the beds is not empty. It's enough to actually make him close to angry, like desecrating a grave. He strides over, kneeling down next to the bed and reaching out towards whoever was sleeping there in order to – however angry he might be – gently shake them awake.  
  
And then, hand mere inches from the lump that slowly rises and falls, he recoils as though burned, eyes widening because it _can't_ be. They were dead. He’d been with them when they stopped breathing. All three of them had, back when there _had_ been three. No, back when there’d been _four_.  
  
But no.  
  
Even as he stares, he realizes he's wrong. Their skin is darker, and the highlights on their hair from the light in the hall shine red, not gold. However much the resemblance is beyond uncanny, they are not Chara. Chara was dead.  
  
But they are human.  
  
The seventh human to fall into the underground since Chara and Asriel had died.  
  
Now it all makes sense – the excitement, the whispers. While he’d secluded himself in his hobbies and passtimes, a storm had been building throughout the Underground. Of course the monsters had believed that the last piece they needed was in their midst. Of course they had seen the child and believed they were almost free.  
  
And now here that child is, dozing in front of him.  
  
The weight of decades’ worth of effort crashes on his shoulders.  
  
It could be so easy like this. He would not need to talk to them. He would not need to learn their name or see their face twist with fear. He would not have to watch them cry or plead for mercy. He would be not need to fight them. He would not need to force a child as young as his own had been to take up arms against him.  
  
It could be quick, painless. This whole dreadful thing would be over, and all of the Underground would rejoice (save a scant few).  
  
And that is when realizes he's considering murdering a child in cold blood as they slept, and can't help but be disgusted. No wonder Toriel had left.  
  
That thought alone is not enough to completely dissuade him. Disgust is hardly a new sensation. Rather, it’s been a universal constant since his wife had left, varying only by degree. Six times already, he’s felt it in the depth he does right now. As he looks into the face of each human he's met, cut them down, stole their lives, futures, for the sake of a vow he does not wish to keep any longer, for a plan he does not truly even _believe_ in, anymore.  
  
And yet it is that vow that has given monsters everywhere hope, has made life down here bearable as the city fills up more and more, as they spill over the edges and into the cracks of their consigned home.  
  
He does not want to kill this child. He _can't_ kill this child.  
  
And yet if he doesn’t… he wouldn’t want to kill the next either. Or the one after that. And should that happen, what will he say to his people? That their years of hoping and waiting have been for naught? That they were to remain trapped down here, forever? Meanwhile if he _does_...  
  
As he sits there, weighing options and responsibilities in his hands that are heavier than the child they hinge upon, that very child shifts, stirs. An eye cracks open, ever so slightly, coming to a rest almost immediately upon him.  
  
“’m sorry… can I stay?” they mumble slowly, not entirely awake. It isn’t too late, if he wants to end this painlessly. “Down here… can… can I stay?” Or maybe more awake than he'd thought.  
  
Slowly the child’s eyes open further, the drowsiness of sleep fading from them and being replaced with an expression that twists a knife buried somewhere in his heart. The silence stretches from seconds into minutes. Silence in which it's all he can do to stare down at the child. To take in their face and their voice and know that – no matter what he did next – he will remember them forever. 

* * *

Cradling the child’s boneless form in one arm – they're so very small, especially now – Asgore slowly shuts the door behind him.  
  
As a king, decisions of this sort have never exactly been his forte. The people, he understands. He knows how to reach out to them, to make them feel confident in him and that he cares about them (honestly because he _does_ ). It's Toriel who’d been better at puzzling things out, thinking of the repercussions of all potential courses of action. All the more reason he should have listened to her, so many years ago.  
  
Toriel… he wonders what she would say, if she could see him now.  
  
… probably nothing much different than she has already. Too little too late, and one does not deserve praise simply because they've chosen to do the right thing.  
  
Especially in this case.  
  
It had taken some time to settle the child back down again. They’d been told what was coming, the tales of his plan for humanity having spread far and wide throughout the monster population. And they had known what they would need to do too in order to leave – Alphys had told them just before they arrived, it seemed. And seeing the excitement of so many other monsters around them, while they child had known that they were walking to either his death or their own…  
  
It's difficult, beyond so. To turn his back on everything he’d done to get to this point. A plan that has been decades in the making, the only hope he’d given the Underground in all that time. He will need to think of something else to tell them, some new hope, and truthfully he can't think of anything much at the moment. Certainly nothing that will work better than the last one. But enough was enough. He’s walked this coward’s path for too long.  
  
_“If that is truly what you wish young one... then of course. But perhaps not here.”_  
  
He’d lifted them out of the bed and into his arms, as he’d once done with his own children (and to his surprise, they hadn't resisted). If he is to truly do this, then the child can’t stay there (should the child even consent to stay here at all). Not in the room that is more tomb than resting place. Not where one of his children had died, and the other had set off on the path that would lead to his death. If he wishes to move on from his past, from this path - and truly he _must_ , more than his people can realize - he has to set it free, cut himself off from it, if need be.  
  
The child lists against him, still worn out, from fear and exhaustion alike he suspects.  
  
Some tea will help. For both of them, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sometimes you just have to let the past go, and emerge from the shadow it's left on your life._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I have about half a dozen different Undertale fics somewhere between my brain and my fingers and this one is the first one that manged to work its way out in its entirety. Perhaps more shall follow soon! Overall though I just have a lot of feelings about Asgore's implied character arc and this fic is sort of my love letter to that. As well as being one of those random ideas that nestles in your head and refuses to leave unless you do the thing properly.
> 
>  **12/28** : And after weeks of agonizing and finally hashing out a lot of good ideas with Arcanista (author of Holding Pattern, PLEASE READ IT if you haven't), this idea is now moving forward. See you in chapter two, folks.


	2. Divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what now?

Flowey can feel himself seething. 

Maybe if he could spread his roots, shove them through the whole underground as far as he could reach, he could somehow tear back control of the timeline. Tear it away from its current owner. This kid may very well be the first _new_ thing that has happened in the Underground in ages... but what is the _point_ if he has to watch the kid stumble around, do the same boring things and play out the same boring routes that had been some of the first ones he’d gotten bored with? They’re interesting, but what they’re _doing_ is just pathetic. Trying so pitifully to defy the truth of the world, the one he’s told them from the very beginning.

He’d taken some comfort - for lack of a better term - in knowing what was coming. Knowing that as soon as the brat reached Asgore, he’d be able to set his plans into motion. And finally, _finally_ , Flowey could take the timeline back, and what was more, have the power of a god he’d been wanting for so long. 

He could have a _soul_ inside him again. 

And then, just like that, right as they’d been _tripping over the finish line_ , the kid suddenly stopped. Assured as he was of his success, Flowey had waited in the shadows of Asgore’s garden for them to arrive. Seconds had ticked by into minutes had ticked by into hours, until finally Asgore himself had tidied up and begun to make his way back to New Home. Flowey had followed, nonplussed. 

Now? Now he can only watch through a window as Asgore settles the child on a chair in the living room and moves to the kitchen to brew up what must be a pot of tea. In his wake, the kid looks around the room, their tear-streaked face shining. 

What a _crybaby_. 

...

And yet…

For a moment Flowey can almost see it - the same room, but a different time, a different face. Hair sharp and straight, skin paler, eyes wider. And then it’s gone, and all that’s left is some banged-up nobody where someone precious should be. 

His stem’s shaking. It feels like ants are crawling all over him. Whatever this is? Is _immense_ , by and far outstripping his earlier frustration. So long has it been since he’s truly _felt_ anything in near this intensity, that the moment he realizes it, he freezes. And yet the very action of pausing to examine this new development is sending the sensation scurrying, until it’s nothing more than a memory, impossible to trace. 

Slowly, Flowey lifts his head back up to look at the window still framing the fallen child. They twist in their seat, turning to look over at the kitchen as Asgore shuffles back into the room with the promised mug of tea. 

So what now?

They aren’t progressing. And Asgore doesn’t seem interested in fighting them. Well, Flowey smirks to himself, he wouldn’t, would he? Without any more preamble, the flower plunges himself into the ground, leaving the child and king behind. 

He was going to need a new plan, after all. 

* * *

The tea does help, both in settling the child down again and giving him time to sort his own feelings out, or at least beginning to. He’d be foolish to think everything could be settled all in one afternoon. He doesn’t press them much, reluctant to do anything that might convince them to pursue freedom on the surface after all. 

Though he does wonder, watching them. They’re a gentle thing, jumping at sudden noises, polite when they ask for more tea in a way that leaves him thinking of Asriel. And yet they flinched so badly they nearly dropped their cup when he’d asked them if they had any family waiting for them. He’s reminded of Chara this time. 

He tries not to think too much about how it is a wonder to watch them at all. He’d done so much to distance himself from the humans who’d fallen. He’d thought perhaps maybe if he could avoid putting voices and names and tiny personality quirks to the souls he’d cut down, maybe, just maybe, he could escape some of the guilt. 

It’d done practically nothing, though perhaps that was as it should be.

The one point he does make very firmly is that they should stay with him for the time being. 

“I only want to be sure you’re safe,” he assures them, an awkward heat around his neck. “Most folks won’t be used to seeing a human around. I don’t want anybody making any… rash decisions.” 

They grimace slightly before nodding in reply. 

Figuring out what to do with them in the meantime is a more difficult. Truth be told, he much preferred the idea of keeping them nearby, but New Home was hardly suitable for accommodating guests. 

They’d immediately balked when he’d offered to let them use the bed in his own room, shaking their head so quickly. And the room in between, that currently housed much of his shattered family’s old effects was too cluttered to really clear out. And even though he could probably ask Alphys or someone to see if something like a sleeping bag could be scrounged up from the various bits of garbage humans had thrown away, it would likely take too much time for tonight, and likewise felt entirely in poor taste to leave them on the floor. 

Which really left only one option. Loath as he is to put the child back in the room he’s so resolutely removed them from earlier, it’s difficult to see what else he can do. He makes sure to tell them they can come speak to him at any time if they’re uncomfortable, before retiring to his own room to think. 

So what now?

His people would be expecting him to deal with the human, sooner rather than later. He’d never exactly shown much restraint in the past, in that regard. He can make a stand now, as he should have done in the past, to divert from this path of senseless violence. In almost every way that matters, he already has. But only almost. Now he has to face the consequences, and keep everything from falling apart in the process.

He doesn’t want his people to lose hope, and he can’t let them take matters into their own hands. Not on this. It’s his burden to bear.

His phone ringing is a bit of a surprise - most monsters tended to come see him in person - and he moves quickly to pick it up before it wakes the child. The voice on the other end, on the other hand, is less of one. 

“O-oh my stars, you actually p-p-picked up,” Alphys’ voice is breathless with shock and worry, “I-I thought… what h-happened? D-did the human-?”

“I met them,” he says, keeping his voice low, “They’re asleep, for now. … they’ve asked to stay in the Underground.” Maybe some part of him might’ve thought to be offended that she thought he might’ve fallen. Then again, maybe she’d been worried he’d be too despondent to pick up the phone. It’s not really worth picking apart, even if he felt petty enough to do so. 

“O-oh. Th-they're staying? That's… that’s great! I-I hoped they would, after….” she trails off, and for a moment, Alphys doesn’t say anything. Asgore can't figure out how to break the silence either. “S-s-so, uh? What do we d-do now? I mean, th-this is a good thing, right?” 

“Yes, of course it is,” he reassures her. He refuses to let himself think otherwise. “But it still changes a great deal.” 

He can practically hear her drooping on the other end of the line. She more than anyone knew what was at stake, at this point. “R-right.”

If anything, at this point it was more a case of damage control. He… would need to say something to his people, somehow. Finding the right words would hardly be easy. But first he needed to know what they already knew, what had already happened. He’d been able to tease bits and pieces of their journey from the child over tea, but not enough to string together anything particularly coherent. Nothing truly notable. 

He allowed himself half a moment to wonder if _she_ would have been able to better sort this out. Probably. 

“How long have they been down there? How many monsters know about them?”

Alphys, to her credit, only fumbles a little, before there’s the sound of clacking keys on a keyboard, and her nervous stammer fades as she immerses herself in the issue at hand. “W-well, I’ve been keeping an eye on them ever since they got out of the Ruins. So uh, according to the timestamps it’s been about twenty-four hours.” 

He doesn’t have the greatest of clues what a timestamp was, but he trusts her judgement. 

“But uh… p-probably most of the Underground knows they’re here by now,” Alphys’s voice slowly rises higher into an anxious squeak, “Um… Mettaton, he uh. K-k-kinda? Fought them on live TV?” 

Silence. 

“M-multiple times.” 

Asgore rubs his forehead. Of all the days to spend gardening...

“I might’ve asked him-”

“Thank you, Alphys,” he cuts her off before she can dig herself any deeper, “I will have to think about what to do.”

For years all of the Underground had thought the seventh human to fall - the _eighth_ human, in truth - would spell their freedom. That they would at last be able to avenge Asriel’s death, and mete out pain and retribution upon humanity for all they’d suffered in the Underground. So many hopes, many of which Asgore himself had planted the seeds for with his vows of long ago, and watered and cared for with each sweep of his trident that had cut another child’s life agonizingly short. And even if he had not, he’s done little to stop them. 

But he also knows better than anyone that it would not be so simple, and that killing the child that’s now dozing in another room would solve nothing. 

Mistakes upon mistakes. He should have said something long before now. 

He thinks he can hear the soft rustle of blankets in another room. The child, asleep. Perhaps they have the right idea. Asgore can feel the weariness sitting in his bones, and not all of it’s from reluctance at what he’ll soon need to face.

“Perhaps it’s a bit too late for tackling such things,” he admits.

“Oh. I… I wouldn’t know. I usually-” Alphys cuts herself off, “So, uh, y-you’re going to bed? Do you want me to call back tomorrow?” 

“How about I contact you? I have a few things I wish to mull over,” he suggests, “Thank you for checking in, Alphys. It means a great deal.”

“Oh, uh, it’s no problem, really! Just… sleep… well?” 

Perhaps he might make their next conversation about the situation in person. Alphys _was_ terribly awkward on the phone, after all.

* * *

They’re not in the same bed that they woke up in, but it still feels wrong. The sheets are - despite Asgore’s care - dusty (somehow they hadn’t noticed on the other). They’ve already sneezed twice, as their fingers pluck gently at the worn sheets. But that’s only the start of it. 

The whole room seems to pulse to some hidden beat, to bits and pieces of images that don’t make sense. A sound of footsteps. A half-forgotten voice, words too indistinct to make out. Two children for two beds. The prince and the human he’d made friends with, right? Like the story. But why did they feel like they could see them so clearly? Almost like they weren’t imagining it.

No, _no_. They curled up into a ball, hands tangling in their hair. Wasn’t today enough? Wasn’t everything else that’d already happened enough? Were they going crazy now too? 

They couldn’t stay here. They didn’t want to go back out where half of the rest of the Underground still wanted the Soul beating in their chest, but they couldn’t stay here. Not in this room. They knew that Asgore didn’t have any other beds ready, but- 

It’s not like they haven’t fallen asleep in odd places before. Hiding away, staying unnoticed until-

Their face is wet. 

Two days. Two days since they’d fallen. Two days since they last felt safe. Would they ever feel safe again?

How were they going to keep going like this? 

Not in this room, at least. 

They wait until Asgore's voice fades out in the hall and there's the sound of a door clicking shut. As soon as they're sure he's gone, they kick the sheets off, crawling out of bed and tiptoeing out into the hallway with the ease of long practice at moving silently. 

The room “under renovations” is their first pick, and on top of the door squeaking terribly when they slip inside, opening the door reveals that it's packed with boxes and even more dust. The bed in particular is stacked high, and they aren't going to risk knocking the whole mess over and getting caught. They shut the door again - wincing at the sound - and turn, looking back down the hallway.

Nowhere particularly good in the atrium, and they don't even bother looking in the basement. In the living room though, they see it. A big comfy armchair, the mirror to Toriel's in the Ruins .It's a bit more open than they would've liked, a bit too easy to spot, but they wake up pretty early out of habit. They can just nip back to the room they were given before anyone wakes up, and nobody would be the wiser.

It's a good plan, and the chair even has a blanket draped over the back, that they tug off gently and wrap themselves up in. 

Their body is ready to crash right then and there - even with the nap earlier, they’d walked so long and far. They’d walked and jumped and blocked spears and posed dramatically. But their brain is still buzzing. The familiar pictures and sounds have faded a little out here in the dark living room, but by no means have they vanished. 

So what now? 

They’ve come all this way… and they’ve stopped. They’re staying. Even if there’s just a little further to go, they aren’t _going_ to go. Because… 

Their fingers clench and they bury their face in the arm of the chair. They won’t hurt him. They won’t hurt anybody. Won’t won’t _won’t_. Won’t think about the color red and the shouts and the sound of thrown objects hitting walls, of the sharp report that’d echoed as they’d watched, horrified from their hiding place in the bushes before scampering-

They’re wrapped in a hot tangled ball, face _still_ wet (wetter, if it were possible), arms thrown over their head. They want to sleep so _much_ , but it’s hard to keep their brain quiet. But something had pulled them out of those thoughts. 

The chair. Somewhere in their near silent thrashing, it’d begun to rock back and forth gently. It was a soothing motion, though not too familiar. Probably that’s a good thing, right now. 

Slowly, they pull themselves backwards then forwards, to keep it going. Let themselves zone out as they focus entirely on the motions, on feeling gravity and motion shift around them. 

There’s so much they haven’t figured out. It hasn’t really even all sunk in that they’re done. That they’ll never see the Surface again. They still have to decide where they’ll live, what they’ll do from now on. They still need to figure out what to say to everyone about all the hopes and dreams that’ve been riding on them, about that voice that told them _they were the future of humans and monsters_ and they were, weren’t they? Because their soul would be the one that would break the barrier. 

Tomorrow. They’ll think of what to do tomorrow.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took... a lot longer than expected. I ended up getting massive writer's block, throwing the original and part of the second draft of it out, but I finally figured out what I was sticking on, why, and also figured out a few key plot elements that'd been up in the air. Been quite a while since I did extended fic, been even longer since I've done it solo. The urge to self-deprecate is strong but I shall resist! Just let me know what you think, I suppose!
> 
> Also pray that I don't end up regretting this chapter title scheme. 
> 
> Anyway thanks so much for your support and patience! It means a lot.


End file.
